The Funeral
by angelhidingintheshadows
Summary: Severus Snape reflects on the man others knew as Albus Dumbledore. Slash.


Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters featured in this story. The situation is my own twisted creation.

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction ever, so reviews would be much appreciated. Also, this is un-betaed. If anyone would like to be a beta for me, it would be much appreciated!

Warnings: Slash

**The Funeral (Or: Reflections on the man behind the name)**

Severus Snape stood at the very back of the aisle dividing the rows of chairs. Each mourner sat in a golden folding-chair with an ascendant phoenix spreading its tiny wings on the back. Albus would have liked the chairs, and Severus thought it a sad irony. People knew such inane things as his taste in furniture, but wouldn't get close enough to know his darker side. To some of them, he was the slightly crazy but kindly old man who ran Hogwarts. Many knew him as the powerful player in the fight against Voldemort, but few knew that he was far from the untainted icon of the light he was believed to be. If most wizards had been told that Albus Dumbledore had dabbled in the darkest arts as a teenager, or that he had bedded Gellert Grindelwald, or forcibly manipulated Horace Slughorn into returning to a teaching post at Hogwarts, they would have been shocked. But they would have gotten over it, after muttering something about the follies of youth. Telling the modern truths of Dumbledore would have a different effect. Severus know that should Albus' secrets come to light, the war effort would crash and burn rather quickly. When the leader of the light was a borderline dark wizard, you knew you were fucked. Albus Dumbledore believed that the ends always justified the means, especially if the ends happened to be the death of Tom Marvolo Riddle. He had lied, tricked, and fought to achieve that end, and his death had simply been another move. However, the game was far from over, and his strategy was all planned out. The pieces were moving.

The legacy of Albus Dumbledore was one of carefully and cleverly concealed deceit. He had taken the utmost care to eliminate all tracks of his wrong doing, or planted strong evidence to the contrary. His death, and the manner in which it had occurred, were as much a part of the master plan as each step of his life had been. He had tricked Harry into giving him a poison to which there was no antidote, and he had known. Severus had designed the brew himself, many years before and had never dreamed that it would finally take Albus' life. By the time the two men had returned to Hogwarts, he had only hours left, and he knew. He also seemed to have known that it would come down to the wire. Madame Pomfrey would have been able to do nothing for him except ease his pain, and _Avada Kedavra_ did that just as effectively. In the process he had saved the Malfoy boy's life, and soul. Severus had paid the price instead. His cover was intact but his heart had shattered into a billion tiny pieces. Albus had maneuvered Severus into a corner until he had committed himself too deeply to ever get out. It had become a choice between a few hours for Albus Dumbledore and a lifetime for Severus Snape. The choice had never been less clear.

But perhaps even more shocking to the general public would be the lengths to which the old man had gone before his death. He had practiced magic with seemingly no regard for the arbitrary laws delineating light and dark. Severus did the same, but he was a Death Eater, and no one expected better from him. They did from Albus. Severus reflected ruefully that, for all the man preached that his intent was simply to destroy evil, Severus knew that sometimes a dark spell slipped out, simply for the pleasure of causing pain. Whether it was physical or emotional did not seem to matter, but Severus knew firsthand that Albus did not need a spell to damage anyone emotionally. He did not even seem to care that he stood to lose everything if someone had the skill to dig up his dirt. Or if Severus turned on him, but he knew that Severus would sooner carve out his own tongue and blind himself than betray his trust. Severus had reason, for Albus had gone farther, he had slept with the Dark Lord, and with Severus. The union of their three souls had borne a child, a being made solely from powerful magic and fragments of soul. Her name was Alanna, and she was effectively a triple Horcrux. While she existed, none of the three could really die, but Severus knew that everything that he had tangibly loved about Albus was gone. That was why he was attending the man's funeral, standing silently behind legions of men and women who had never really known the man behind the name, the mind behind the face, the scars under gaily embroidered robes. The masses of those in somber black, stark against the glittering chairs, seemed to laugh at Severus, mocking his grief with their tears, threatening to drown the man he had loved with pity and sorrow. Albus never wanted to be pitied, he thought death was nothing but the next great adventure. Severus would send him on that journey as best as he could.

A carefully crafted charm masked his identity, all the onlookers could see was a tall man, painfully thin, black hair rippling down widowers robes. He was an angel of death in purest white.


End file.
